


For Homeworld

by Pappillon



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Blite Week, Blite Week 2018, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pappillon/pseuds/Pappillon
Summary: My writing for Blite Week 2018.





	1. Creation

White had come to Yellow with plans for Blue, adorned in silver. She held out a hand, and in a flash, the image occupied every corner of Yellow’s attention. Blue existed as a sketch drawn as a curvaceous woman with long, flowing hair shaped like a tear.

“What do you think?”

In her mind’s eye, Yellow held her carefully. Though it was a photograph of a drawing taken from White’s point of view, Yellow could easily make out her wide, round hips, her large supple breasts, and her plump, pouty lips. Even in graphite, her lines were smooth as ice, slipping the viewer from the base of her neck to between her legs. Every angle attracted the eye.

“Oh, isn’t she beautiful? She’s to be our Blue, just as commissioned.”

“What will she do?” Yellow asked. “What will she be for?”

“Why, she’ll be for Homeworld.” White smiled in rescinding the image, granting Yellow back her consciousness. “Watch over her, won’t you, as she grows?” But White had already begun walking away.

They had set up screens to monitor her progress, with cameras set to the location from which she would emerge and updates current to the second. From Yellow’s control room, she had a window open, displaying Blue’s slow-beating heart, and the messages popping into existence with a ding. They would show her mass and color, darkening as she grew, temperature constantly displayed.

“You know, when you were forming, this technology didn’t exist,” White had said. “One just had to hope you emerged as desired.”

Yellow didn’t ask what would have happened if she hadn’t.

Having it open a few minutes, Yellow would have closed the status updates, or momentarily turned off the camera recording the unmoving ground, but she waited a while longer. But Blue’s color didn’t change and she didn’t shake, so Yellow went back to work. In the reflection of screen, she was smirking.

During the rare moments alone in her chambers, Yellow might make that rough heap of diamond a hologram, which she held in her hands. Despite being buried well beneath the dirt, it depicted Blue’s gem, deeply pigmented and sparkling. Yellow would cup the image tightly enough to distort it, and report to White, “She’s about the size of my palm.”

When her gem had grown nearly to completion, White created her chamber. Where White had projected a chair, workers built a chair. They decorated the walls to the tile, lights to the bulbs, curtains to the fibers.

Popping into creation left plenty of dust, so White sent her Pearls to clean. They scrubbed, polishing the statues, purging the dirt.

With Blue’s gem projected into the chambers with them, Yellow and White went together. The clean lines composing her diamond matched the crisp, perfect walls of her palace, the shine of the chandeliers and the elegance of the ornate rugs.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” White asked, but didn’t give Yellow a chance to answer. “When she emerges, wash her here before bringing her to me. There’s a bath in that room, over there.”

The image appeared within Yellow’s mind, even though neither had entered.

“Why not the Pearls?” Yellow asked.

“You should see her,” White answered. As the image of the bathing room with its extensive tub disappeared, so did she.

Before the entrance of Blue’s chambers, Yellow lingered with the theoretical gem projected within her hands. She stood and held it, the color of her gloves turning. Her edges had become so clear, slightly rounded like a tear.

The time came for Blue to emerge. The updates arrived with their glow, reporting that she was ready, and should be anticipated any moment. That message in particular hovered longer than the others. Embellished with an exclamation point, it seemed to indicate that Blue might burst from Homeworld any second. It was her beginning. Be ready.

Yellow alerted White but didn’t hear anything back, and every few hours, the messages pinged again to the top of the feed, with the same exclamation point. Don’t forget. Another Diamond is coming.

So many notifications arrived that when the initial shake occured, Yellow jumped inside her chair. From the outside of her chamber, sirens howled as the screen illuminated with more incoming data: how severe the quakes were, how much the ground would rend.

Among the sirens rang an announcement to stay inside, but Yellow went to Blue.

She arrived before Blue had burst forth. Standing on the edges of the canyon she would make, she watched the cracks deepen.

Where the ground shattered, and rifts developed, pale blue light poured from them, filling the crater like flood water. Homeworld shook as the rift grew and particles of dust and pebbles interrupted the beam, dense as a layer of foam.

Even at a reasonable distance, Yellow’s eyes watered. She wiped them continuously, but the brighter the light grew, the more her eyes flooded. Finally it drained, receding into the planet. The quaking ground calmed. For only a moment, Homeworld drew a breath and held it, darkening, dying, before exploding outward with a tsunami of light. The kindergarten crinkled, and like salt from an ocean wave, it rained sparkling debris. From the chaos arose Blue.

She was as White intended, long silver hair and curves. Covered in dirt. Crying.

She caught her breath and walked to Yellow.

“Are you a Diamond too?” She asked.

Yellow cleared her eyes.

Blue drew nearer and inquired more softly, “Are you a Diamond too?”

“Yes,” Yellow took her hand, “I am.”

Even within the cavernous bath, the sirens rang the tiles with a new message: “Blue Diamond has emerged. All gems are to take to the streets to witness her.”

The bath had been drawn, and the words afflicted the water as well, sweeping across it in rings.

Blue followed, clutching her hand tightly. With their feet in the water, Yellow released her. “You can get in,” she said. “White wants me to bathe you.”

But as Yellow fetched the soap, Blue hesitated. She studied from the point of Yellow’s hair to the heels of her boots. Despite being naked and dusty, she didn’t hide herself, mouth forming a full-bodied pout.

“Who is White?” she asked, “And don’t I have servants?”

“You will,” Yellow stepped into the water, a hand upon Blue’s back, “but White wanted us to meet.”

Yellow wasted no time, removing her gloves and soaping up her hands. “I’m going to touch you,” she said, taking Blue’s arm and lathering it. Yellow worked quickly, avoiding eye contact as her hands found every nook and cranny. She exfoliated the dirt, equally distributed the soap, never lingering in any one area.

As Yellow rinsed the dust away to expose glowing skin, Blue asked, “What is White like? Do I belong to her?”

Yellow paused, pail emptied. “We all belong to her,” she leaned over to fill it. “Just do as she says.”

“Is that why you came to greet me? Because she asked you to?”

“There are only three of us,” Yellow poured more water along her back. “I would have come to see you no matter what.”

“Well,” Blue looked over her shoulder. “I can’t watch you emerge, but if you find yourself in need of a bath, I’d be happy to return the favor.”

Yellow laughed. “Come on. They’re waiting for you.”

Washed and gowned, Blue went with Yellow to White’s chambers, the sirens still announcing her birth. Pictures were projected on the screens, which Gems gathered to watch as Blue’s emergence occupied the sides of buildings. Flat surfaces and endless windows illuminated with well-shot scenes of her breaking through the rock, the capitol awash with her body. The cameras, wherever they had been, captured her with her arm out to Yellow, displaying her perfection. The commission sketch made its appearance too, juxtaposed with the real-life version, comparing the arc of her breasts, the abundance of her hips, the plushness of her mouth.

The onlookers gasped. They bowed as she passed, but rather than keep their noses toward the ground, they looked upward to drink every drop of her.

When they approached White’s bust in the center of the city, Blue and Yellow stopped, arms linked.

“I’m sure she’ll love you,” Yellow said. “She’s been waiting a long time.”

Blue merely touched Yellow’s shoulder. The words seemed to be coming, but before Blue could produce them, a light enveloped her, bleaching her colors, sweeping her inside.

She didn’t have a chance to scream, nor did Yellow gasp for her, before she had gone.

Eventually, she turned away, footfalls echoing in the streets once full of noise.

 


	2. Nickname

White Diamond took her away. They hadn’t told anyone that they were going; she had merely showed up, dramatic and unannounced, to spirit Blue away.

“I don’t want you to look,” she said. “It’s a surprise.”

So Blue sat next to White in the co-captain's chair, blindfolded as they outraced the red-shifting stars. Though Blue couldn’t see, White held her hand, tracing over her heartlines with the point of her nail.

They landed and White led Blue from the ship, leaving scratches along her palm as both of their feet entered the sand. It was warm like the sun above them, like White’s skin. In the distance, waves tumbled and crashed; wind wet Blue’s blindfold. Carefully, White removed it.

“Oh, White.” The wind salted their hair. “It’s beautiful.”

White looked to the sun in the distance and the foaming waters ahead. “Do you understand, Blue?”

Blue didn’t speak, but smiled, like the ocean bucking upward with the crest of a wave.

“You  _ do _ understand, don’t you?” White had come so close, hands all over her. “This world is to be  _ yours _ .”

They were close to kissing, but didn’t, lips only a breath apart. Before long, White let her go, having left pressure marks along her arms, where her nails had dug in.

Every time White gifted Blue a planet, she would show her in the same way, grasping her shoulders, taking in the air she had just released. It didn’t matter the location. White would bring her to deep jungles, or the center of crystal deserts, worlds she had raked over and made beautiful already, or places so entrenched in nature they were black with it. She would always blindfold Blue and watch her reaction closely as though she were recording the angles of her smile. She would grin wider and wider every time her paintings grew in abundance, every time White dug deeper with her nails.

“Oh, Blue,” she would whisper. “How beautiful you are.”

One day, White blindfolded her again, arriving after Blue emerged from a bath. “There’s something I must show you,” her words left physical indents upon Blue’s lips. She could feel their fire, spoken so roughly.

“It couldn’t wait? I was naked a moment ago—”

“Do you really think I would have come so urgently if it could wait?” Blue’s freshly warmed skin collapsed more easily under White’s nails. She bled, but only a few drops.

“I suppose you wouldn’t have,” Blue answered, and followed.

They went to White’s chambers. Blue recognized them by the sound of her feet as they echoed down the main hall, and the scattered chandelier light leaking through her blindfold. White walked quickly, pulling Blue along until the salon doors slid open.

Blue nearly heard White laugh as she unveiled the room, and Blue, looking down, found a little pink gem with a little pink diamond embedded in her stomach.

For a moment, both gaped. White, with her hands on Blue’s shoulders, spoke. “Our Starlight—she was a surprise. Can you believe it?  _ Another Diamond _ .”

Blue, hair wet from the bath, skin dewey, stared down at Pink, staring up at her. “Starlight?” She uttered.

“Oh, isn’t she cute? Couldn’t you just love her forever?”

Over the course of another silence, Blue took in Pink’s mound of fluffy, curly hair, her wide eyes, and slightly open mouth. She stared at her shoes, with ridiculous puffs above the toes, so silly that they had to be endearing. Had White asked her to wear them?

“I certainly could,” Blue finally answered. “It’s nice to meet you, Pink.”

Her back tingled with surprise when Pink made an enthusiastic, but surprisingly deep-voiced reply, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Suddenly, White began blindfolding Blue less. She had stopped coming with surprises; her unannounced visits lessened. Yet, every time she saw Pink, there was always a new story. “White gave me a Pearl,” or “We’re beginning the design of my ship.” A ship, no doubt, that White had commissioned.

During meetings, Pink would sit next to White, kicking her legs in a boosted chair that leveled her with the rest of them. White teased out her curls. Looping them around her index finger, she would discuss newly found worlds, which ones would make good colonies, and what would belong to whom. Abundance flowed through her lips as constantly as her finger played in Pink’s hair.

“Can I have a colony?” Pink asked.

“Soon, Starlight.”

Blue rolled her eyes, and Yellow, hiding her grin behind entangled fingers, stopped herself from laughing.

They spoke later, in the vast waters of Blue’s bath tub.

“She gives her whatever she asks for, and things she’s never asked for  _ at all. _ It’s as though her very presence attracts gifts.” Blue spoke with her hands as Yellow massaged the knots from her back, making small waves between splashes.

Straightening out Blue’s shoulder blade, Yellow said, “I’m not sure why you’re upset. She did the same for you.”

“She didn’t.”

“She  _ did _ ,” Yellow pinched. “White hasn’t given Pink anything that she hasn’t given to you, or me.”

“That’s not true.”

“ _ Name one _ .”

Blue paused. Despite Yellow’s rising volume, she had kept working, squeezing Blue’s shoulders as if wringing out a rag.

“She hasn’t given me a nickname,” Blue answered. In the silence between them, her voice echoed, branching outward like the waves she had made. “She always calls Pink ‘Starlight,’ but I’ve never heard her call either of us anything but ‘Blue’ or ‘Yellow.’”

“She’s called me names other than ‘Yellow,’ but I wouldn’t consider them nicknames.” She stopped massaging. “If you want one so badly, why don’t you ask her? I’m sure she would oblige.” Yellow turned around. “It’s my turn. My back is killing me.”

The day Blue went to ask, she arrived unannounced at White’s chambers. She had gone after her responsibilities, telling herself that she would go, that today was the day, and found herself waiting like a peasant before two unending silver doors.

The Pearl outside, losing her footing at the presence of an unexpected Diamond, had asked for her patience as she contacted White. Waiting, Blue listened to the doors and the nonstop humming inside them. They whispered with the electricity that could open or close them at any moment, in perpetual readiness. Perhaps they had veins too, teeming with light that ebbed when touched. They glowed before opening, when that little Pearl placed her hand on the panel.

The snapping open still shocked Blue. The Pearl poked her head in from one side to say, “White awaits you in her leisure room, My Diamond.”

“Thank you, Pearl.”                                        

Even from the mouth of the long hallway, Blue could hear distorted words. Whatever was said, it tinged with musicality, as if spoken to someone young about something exciting, like teaching a baby her colors.

Blue kept walking, despite the hollow in her stomach. Bordered on both sides by ancient artwork, she moved closer to the source of the light and noise, where White was laughing.

“There are many unique challenges to colonizing, Starlight. If any gems become mouthy, they must be punished.”

Blue paused, hidden within the shadows before the lip of the leisure room. There they were, White with Pink in her lap, looking over a hologram of a blue and green planet, glowing dully above White’s fingers. It rotated, lethargically displaying its lush continents and plentiful oceans. Like a feast open for taking, it helplessly advertised the things a Diamond could do with it, the gems she could make, the metal she could extract, the glory she could bring.

Blue jumped again as White turned to her. Pink followed shortly.

“Oh, Blue. Thank the stars you’re here.” 

She stepped into the light.

“Starlight is soon to receive her first colony. You’ll assist her, won’t you? Surely, she’ll look to you for guidance, should anything go awry.”  

“Oh—”

Pink was gaping at her, eyes wide and sparkling. She looked excited, glittering as much as White, yet she was no larger than the projection of her first colony.

Blue swallowed, “Of course. I’d be happy to assist her.”

A pause, in which no one spoke.

“What was it that you needed to ask?” White boomed again, more than anticipated, more than seemed possible.

“It’s nothing. I can come back later—”

“Surely it isn’t nothing, if you came all the way here.”

Still, Blue choked. The words, ‘I want a nickname,’ passed by countless times, but her voice wouldn’t take to them. They rotated, like a storm along an equator of a planet, blowing with a gust at ‘I’ and smoothing out by ‘Nickname,’ but she failed to grasp them every time. Blue stood frozen, occasionally opening and closing her mouth, a fish misplaced by a hurricane.   

White smiled at her. “You’re clearly struggling. Come back another time, Moonbeam.”

For a moment, Blue lingered, caught in a flurry of words. “Yes, thank you.” With that, she turned away.


	3. Mourning

After Pink had died, Blue would come to White. Sitting alone in her chambers, weeping, she might catch something, a piece of chandelier that glinted rose, or an old authority crest she couldn’t bear to remove. The unwashed curtains smelled like her, when she would wrap herself inside them, playing. The air hurt to breathe. 

So Blue would come knocking with both hands on the outside of White’s enormous bust. The inside was mercifully monochromatic, the light unapologetically white. Nothing in those chambers smelt of her; they didn’t smell of anything.

Without fail, White would accept her. She engulfed her in pure light, drawing her in by the ankles and wrists. For a few seconds, it felt like a quartering, but then it was over and Blue’s lips tingled against the pressure of White’s.

She wouldn’t really kiss her. White, holding Homeworld together, showed Blue a better reality, where Pink never existed, and the planet wasn’t falling apart, and there was no pain. With their lips touching, Blue mumbled, “Oh, White, make it stop. It hurts so much, and it’s all my fault.”

White, peeling away Blue’s clothes, smiled. “I can taste your tears.”

Blue had found White’s tongue, hot enough to sear away any sensation, as her clothes came off.

White warmed Blue like the desert on a windless day. She overwhelmed on every side and at every angle, yet Blue could feel her hands as they smoothed along her collarbones, over her breasts, down her navel. The space between her legs had become like an oasis, a paradise amongst the heat.

Blue gasped as White slotted her fingers inside it, holding onto what she perceived as shoulders. Her light moved as accurately as fingers, but a little too fluidly. They massaged her most sensitive areas too adeptly, too exactly, even for prints.

White produced tongues and teeth playing with both her nipples simultaneously, lapping up her clitoris and love-biting her neck. Blue hollered and came one, two, three times. She lost count.

White bit and stroked her until she was sopping and raw, spent in the wasteland of her attention. Even then, she kept going, pulling the cries from the chasm of Blue’s open mouth. Her back arched and her muscles moved as if White were truly inside her, strumming her web of nerves, tightening as they seemed to go in. Really, Blue writhed on the floor, bending her knees and howling without voice.  

White watched her naked body rolling and pulled out another orgasm. She had taken nine of them with a smile, glowing with a tinge of Blue’s color.

“Does it hurt any longer?” she asked as Blue came again. That was ten.

When she didn’t receive an answer, White reclaimed her theoretical fingers. She wrapped Blue in her gown and kissed at her throat. Blue didn’t turn to her as she phased through the wall, not even when she had passed through buildings and ended up on the floor of her chambers. She lay there as though she were still climaxing.

White sometimes told Blue that she didn’t want to see her the next day, but she tended to show up anyway. Once the room grew clearer along its hazy edges and the little pink glares returned, she would go. But for the moment, she laid content upon the floor, scent caturised and pain seared away.    


	4. Idol

Sometimes it stormed on Homeworld, not with rain, but with dust. Rocks and debris from the core of the planet to its rings tumbled past the windows as sirens wailed in the background, alerting everyone to stay inside. 

Frightening as it was, the windows surrounding White Diamond’s statue displayed the storm in detail, every grain of sand to the stones that clattered by. They bound against the shatterproof glass as Blue curled around White’s legs.

She was built as a replica, but the Diamond herself was harder. She would have sent Blue away before she could wrap her arms around her hips or rest her face against her thigh. They wouldn’t have watched a storm together; White wouldn’t watch a storm at all.

Blue had come with questions, but with her cheek flattened against the faux silk sculpted onto White, didn’t speak them. When she shifted to look into the statue’s face, footsteps padded behind her, stopping as Blue turned.    

She caught a Quartz soldier, a candle in her large but careful hand, who gasped, bowing. “I’m sorry, My Diamond.” She covered the color of her uniform as she leaned over, creating a cascade of hair as wax dripped onto the floor. “I came to take refuge from the storm. I didn’t expect—”

“It’s fine. We all belong to her, don’t we?”

The wind screamed outside and rattled the windows.

“Tell me, Soldier, what do you think of her? Have you met her?”

The Quartz gasped. Blue hadn’t stopped staring at her. “She must be beautiful, My Diamond, radiant and enormous—I imagine that she’s all-knowing, resplendent, uh—” She paused to breathe. “She must be magnanimous, remaining in her chambers for so long, holding Homeworld together, and benevolent to do so,  _ for us _ , My Diamond. She must do it with such grace.” The Quartz stopped to check if she had told Blue Diamond what she wanted to hear.

Blue smirked before turning back to the window. “Well,” they wouldn’t meet glances again, “She  _ is _ beautiful.”  

Instead of placing her candle at the altar, the Quartz remained in place. She shuffled her weight as the wax burned trails along her hands.  


End file.
